天堂里的姑姥姥（1）

清明时节雨纷纷，新泽西的清明时节气候和北京差不多。阴郁的天气使人混混沌沌，追思翩翩，我生命中的两位在天堂的亲人一一浮现在脑海：将我养大的姑姥姥（1910-1983）和生我的父亲（1935-2014）。他们都没有墓地，都埋在我的心里。每逢清明我就在心里祭奠他们！

大弟弟出生的那个晚上，我就被姑姥姥抱到她的家里。距离我妈妈租住的厢房不到一百米，只隔了一条街。从此我就被当成了独生女来养，什么都是自己独占，好的坏的都没有人来分享。在那个物质匮乏的年代，自己承担的生活责任比得到的物质要多的多。

60，70年代天津渤海湾的渔村算不上富裕，起码不挨饿。周围农村的姑娘都往我们这里嫁。村里一半是渔民一半是盐工，大家都从粮店里买供给的粮食，都按月领工资。守着海，蛋白质是不缺的，每顿饭都有鱼虾。现在看来那些小鱼小虾的营养更丰富，至于城里人吃的点心甜食很少有人家吃的起。到现在那些东西都不是我的最爱。所以我的牙多年不刷，也没有蛀牙，整整齐齐的。倒是邻居家两个孩子因为爸爸被选到汉沽区的卫生院做工宣队的头头，家里点心成堆，吃的满嘴都是蛀牙，经常听到他们哭着喊牙疼。

从我记事起，周围和姑姥姥聊天说话的人应该都是50岁左右的人。在我的记忆里她们都很老了，其实最老的应该是姑姥姥，因为只有她有一双裹过的小脚。不过不是三寸金莲，应该有六寸左右。每次洗脚都是大工程，小刀剪子的备着，我被呼来喝去的一通折腾。鞋是自己做的那种尖角鞋。那些被我称为一二三姥姥的女人们都是大脚，或者叫解放脚（裹了一段时间就放开了）。这些女人和孩子们在家都织渔网，只有20岁到45岁之间的人才出门去干体力活。

几乎整个村子的人都姓唐，只有两三家外姓人。姑姥爷是唐姓，我成了一村人的外甥女，俗称“小白眼”。

记忆中的姑姥姥总是生病，一天到晚的抱怨自己背上像驮了一块大石头，每天都用手捂着胸口侃侃而谈。经常有人打趣说：老妈，你不难受了吗？她回答：我这不正难受着嘛！

她经常卧床，很小我就自己做饭，每次上学回来看到她还在被窝里躺着，就很难过。小医院的医生说她是患有神经官能症，总给她一些谷维素药片。她经常在我爸爸回家探亲的时候会生很重的病，是那种全身不停的颤抖，需要急救车拉到大医院的那种病。到了医院检查也查不出来，住一周就回家。而我很小的时候就在医院陪床，经常睡在她的病床上。医院的医生都劝她找别人来陪床，怕小孩子在医院被传染。而她就鼻涕一把泪一把的诉说家史。我在病房里认了好几个“干妈”。

In the drizzling rain of Qingming season, the climate in New Jersey is similar to that in Beijing. The gloomy weather makes one feel confused and lost in thought, as memories of two departed loved ones in heaven emerge in my mind: my maternal grand aunt who raised me (1910-1983) and my father who gave birth to me (1935-2014). They both do not have graves, as they are buried in my heart. Every Qingming season, I offer them my prayers in my heart!

On the night my younger brother was born, my grand aunt carried me to her house. It was less than 100 meters away from the room my mother rented, just across the street. From then on, I was raised as an only child, everything was mine to keep, and there was no one to share the good or the bad with. In those days of material scarcity, I had to bear much more responsibility than material possessions.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the fishing village in Tianjin Bohai Bay was not wealthy, but at least no one went hungry. Girls from the surrounding rural areas came to marry here. Half of the village was fishermen, and the other half were salt workers. Everyone bought their rationed food from the grain store and received their wages monthly. With the sea nearby, protein was not lacking, and every meal had fish and shrimp. Looking back now, the nutrition from those small fish and shrimp was richer than the sweets and pastries that city folks ate, which were affordable only for the well-off families. Even now, those things are not my favorite. That’s why I hadn’t brushed my teeth for years, but I had no cavities, and my teeth are neat and tidy. In contrast, the two children next door often cried out in pain from cavities, as their father was selected to work as the head of the medical team in the Han Gu district’s hospital, and they had piles of snacks at home.

As far as I can remember, everyone who talked with my grand aunt was around 50 years old. In my memory, they were all very old, but in fact, my grand aunt was the oldest, with her feet bound to about six inches. Each time she washed her feet, it was a big project, with a knife and scissors at the ready, and I was called to assist. She made the kind of pointed shoes that were wrapped around the feet. Those women whom I called grand Auntie One, Two, and Three all had big feet, or what was known as liberated feet (which were unbound after being bound for some time). These women and children all made fishing nets at home, and only those between 20 and 45 years old went out to do manual labor.

Almost everyone in the village was surnamed Tang, except for two or three families with different surnames. My grand aunt’s husband was surnamed Tang, so I became an outsider in the village and was commonly referred to as “Little White Eyes.”

In my memory, my grand aunt was always sick, complaining all day long that she felt like she was carrying a big rock on her back, and always holding her chest with her hand while talking. People often joked with her, “Mom, aren’t you uncomfortable?” and she would reply, “I’m supposed to feel uncomfortable!”

She often stayed in bed, and I started cooking for myself when I was very young. It was heartbreaking to see her still lying in bed when I came back from school. The doctor at the small hospital said she had neurosis and gave her some guaifenesin pills. She often fell seriously ill when my father came home to visit, shaking uncontrollably all over her body and requiring an ambulance to take her to a large hospital. After a week of hospitalization, she would return home without any diagnosis. I was very young then and often slept in her hospital bed. The hospital doctors advised her to find someone else to accompany her in the hospital, fearing that children might be infected in the hospital. But she would cry and tell family stories, and I would stay with her in the ward…

“I have recognized several ‘godmothers’ while in the hospital ward.”